


Wanderlust

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted non-con sexual assault and brief moment of violence chapter 2 only, Gen, Rated Teen for some mature content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This story was requested by Anon Reader who read my story Une Vie Oubliee (A Life Forgotten) and wanted a follow-up for something referred to there and perhaps a bit of distress for d'Art thrown in too.Summary: A simple mission turns bad for d'Artagnan. Help comes from a surprising source.Flashback scenes are in italic.++++





	1. Chapter 1

_On the road back to Paris_

He could hear his brother's voices in his head right this minute, while d'Artagnan faced off with five malandrins. All of them held a hungry look in their eyes. He prayed it didn't bode ill for him.

"Look at the pretty garcon." Moulin eyed the young one up, coarsely laughing along with his fellow companions.

Closing his eyes tightly, d'Artagnan swore under his breath. Merde! This wasn't a good sign. It would appear that look of hunger he had noted didn't mean these cut-purses needed their bellies filled. Athos was going to tear a strip off him for getting into this fix.

It was supposed to have been a simple assignment. Weren't they all? Only a few hours out of Paris, d'Artagnan was to deliver a missive for Captain Treville to Monsieur Lenoncourt. The gentleman was a prominent merchant who had many business dealings with King Louis. Once d'Artagnan had accomplished his mission, he made a start for home.

Unfortunately Zad threw a shoe. Being a warm afternoon, d'Artagnan shed his doublet and pauldron after dismounting. Taking a look at Zad's hoof, he realized a quick decision had to be made. Really there was only one thing he could do. On foot he took Zad's reins in hand and began the journey back to Monsieur Lenoncourt's estate, where d'Artagnan knew the merchant's capable stable hands could re-shoe Zad without any problem.

He didn't get very far when d'Artagnan ran into these canailles. So here he was, alone and without aid of back-up. "You don't want to do this." D'Artagnan's hands hovered just above the hilt of his sword and main gauche, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

"Don't want to do _what_ pretty garcon?" Rome's eyes darkened with desire, devouring the youngster.

" _THIS!_ " d'Artagnan shouted desperately, flapping his arms in the air. "Whatever _THIS_ is!" Frustration building up he was now feeling it full force. His first time out completely on his own since earning his pauldron, and d'Artagnan got caught with his leathers down, so to speak.

Having nothing of value on his person, d'Artagnan wasn't worried about being robbed, even if these malandrins didn't know that. Non, what this group valued was way more personal than that. They wanted to take his _honor_ and d'Artagnan would be damned if he'd give it to them without a good fight! Which brought him back to thinking upon what his brothers had said to him right before d'Artagnan set out.

_FLASHBACK_

_"Now remember, kid, ta always watch your back." Clapping the whelp on the shoulder with a heavy hand, Porthos grinned at d'Artagnan's pout._

_"And," Aramis winked, wearing a wicked smile, "don't do anything we wouldn't do." Finding d'Artagnan's eye roll highly amusing, he chuckled._

_"D'Artagnan," Athos' voice was deadly serious, as he stared at his protégé, "simply stay out of trouble."_

_"Oh ho!" d'Artagnan exclaimed indignantly, giving all of them the stink eye. "Wouldn't you say that's three pots calling one kettle black?" At the inseparable's unrepentant faces d'Artagnan turned his back on them, mounting Zad. Taking the reins in his hands he glared at his brothers. "Tis only a few hours each way. You're all acting as if I'm going on a journey of some length."_

_"Heaven forbid!" Acting out dramatically, Aramis clapped his hands over his heart._

_"I'm leaving now before all of you decide I need a babysitter just to go deliver this letter." Tucking the missive in his doublet d'Artagnan flung a careless hand of farewell to them. Riding past the Garrison gates d'Artagnan wondered how he had collected a set of three mother hens._

_END FLASHBACK_

__

Promising himself he wouldn't make it easy for any of these cut-purses, d'Artagnan pulled out his sword while clutching his main gauche with his left hand. He stood in the center of the clearing, faced on all sides by his adversaries. Come and get me you batards! You'll see how a true Gascon fights!

__

Comtois and Foss thought they were just going to have some light fun with the younger man but one look into Moulin and Rome's gleeful faces told them otherwise. Not wanting to be on the wrong end of their wrath both men followed suit. Although it appeared that Lemieux felt as they did, seeing the hesitation in his eyes.

__

Tension built up in every muscle of d'Artagnan's body, as he waited for them to make the first move.

__

About to pounce on their victim, the sudden report of a pistol had all the malandrins jumping out of their skin. Turning their heads toward the sound they cringed upon seeing who stood there, smoking pistol pointed at them.

__

Certainly knowing what that sound was d'Artagnan watched how spooked the cut-purses became, especially upon noting the lone figure standing at the edge of the clearing who had joined them. The stranger cut an imposing figure, at least in d'Artagnan's estimation. His height alone was intimidating, standing well over six feet, dressed all in black. It made him swallow the growing lump in his throat threatening to choke him.

__

Having been taught not to make snap judgments, d'Artagnan didn't need anyone to spell it out to him that this individual was more than likely the man in charge. Would this person be his savior or worse? D'Artagnan wasn't fooling himself in the slightest that this one would be any different than the others. Still, there was a tiny part of him that held onto a semblance of hope.

__

Another thing d'Artagnan took note of was how well armed the man was. Even Porthos didn't carry that much weaponry on his person. The stranger had two daggers, a sword and another pistol all tucked into his belt. Even the dusty boots sported a dagger each, sticking out of side pockets designed for them. If this one was anything like his friend Porthos, d'Artagnan wouldn't have put it past him to have smaller daggers hidden inside the sleeves of his jacket as well.

__

"Leave him alone!" Chrestien ordered sharply. When they didn't obey him as fast as he'd like, Chrestien took out his other pistol and aimed both of them at his men. Snickering to himself when Comtois, Foss and Lemieux backed down first, he wasn't in the least surprised when those three did so. None of them had backbone. They even weren't worthy of being in his gang. The only reason he kept them along was that Chrestien needed the numbers.

__

"Rome!" he snapped out. Staring him down until he too backed away from the boy. Which left him with Moulin to deal with. He admired that one. He was the only person who dared defy his authority. But there was room for only one leader. If Moulin wanted to challenge him over their captive, then Chrestien would gladly oblige him.

__

Sweating it out, d'Artagnan observed the silent exchange going on between the supposed leader and the other man who originally threatened him. It reminded d'Artagnan very much of the way his older brothers acted with each other. There used to be times that he felt left out, whenever his friends silently communicated in that manner. But after a year in their company d'Artagnan felt like he was getting the hang of it and did some silent communicating of his own, much to the annoyance of Athos.

__

Realizing this wasn't the place to pick a fight with Chrestien, Moulin gave in, abeit less than graciously, giving the handsome youngster a last lingering look before walking away.

__

As the older malandrin slowly approached d'Artagnan, he had a feeling that he'd just jumped from a slightly simmering frying pan into a blazing fire. When the man grabbed hold of his chin, he tried to jerk his head away but that only made the other man's grip tighten further. Raising his main gauche d'Artagnan prepared to fight his way out of this, his sword at the ready. But when the cut-purse poked his pistol in d'Artagnan's stomach, he knew his captor held the advantage.

__

With his free hand he turned the young one's face from side to side making Chrestien smile with pleasure. "You have the look of a Gascon about you."

__

Not knowing if it would help or hinder his plight, d'Artagnan nodded. "Oui, I am."

__

"You come from good stock then." Releasing the boy's chin, Chrestien admired the spark of fire he saw in the brown eyes staring warily back into his own.

__

"Look I realize none of your men would have known this," d'Artagnan pointed over to where his doublet and pauldron laid on the ground near Zad, "but I'm a Musketeer." Noting the other man's eyes glitter strangely, d'Artagnan thought perhaps that may have been the wrong thing to say. "My horse threw a shoe and I was taking him back to have it fixed."

__

"Mmmmm," Chrestien hummed in acknowledgment. "Understandable that you would shed your uniform on such a hot day as this."

__

"I'll just take my horse then and continue on my way." Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet d'Artagnan noted that the other man stayed where he was, appearing quite amused. His heart sank right then and there.

__

"I... think... not," Chrestien drawled.

__

Those three words sent chills running up and down d'Artagnan's spine. "You do realize you're interfering with a king's soldier?"

__

Laughing Chrestien waved his pistol in front of the Gascon's face. "I care nothing for your king or his so-called Musketeers," he spat on the ground. "That is what I think of your monarch."

__

Oh this was beyond bad, d'Artagnan's stomach churned. "What are you going to do with me?"

__

"You'll fetch me a good price on the auction block." White teeth flashing a bright smile, Chrestien shook a pouch hanging from his belt. The coins inside could be heard jangling together.

__

"I'm due back in less than a few hours," d'Artagnan pointed out desperately. "My captain will be sending out search parties for me if I do not return." He allowed himself a small smirk, thinking he may have gained some ground. "I doubt you would want to face down my brothers." His smirk began to fade somewhat, when he noted the smug look that crossed his adversaries' features.

__

"Which also means your captain will wait several more hours after that before sending out units to look for you," Chrestien countered, "thinking you may have simply been delayed." Seeing the youngster's spirit deflate, he laughed harshly. "As for your _brothers_ they'll find no trace of us by the time they get here."

__

Knowing, at this juncture, he had nothing to lose d'Artagnan asked, "What would you want in return for my freedom?"

__

"Ah, petit Musketeer, you make a joke, eh?" Chrestien chuckled. "But forgive me for not introducing myself sooner." Mocking the boy, he gave him a formal bow. "My name is Chrestien Valois at your service." Sliding his palm down the left side of the youngster's face he was well pleased. "You will have your _freedom_ once I sell you to your new owner." Patting the Gascon's cheek he added, "It won't be so bad. You'll see."

__

"You're making a huge mistake," d'Artagnan snarled. None of them had taken away his weapons as yet. That was to his advantage, even if he was outnumbered six to one. Evidently his intent must have clearly showed through when Chrestien aimed a pistol at d'Artagnan's chest. "You would risk injuring me?" he arched a brow. "That would be damaging the goods wouldn't it? Bringing the price down considerably, leaving you not much of a profit."

__

"True," Chrestien paused, lowering his pistol. "I doubt a wound to one of your legs would bring the price down much." He glided his pistol up and down the young Gascon's right leg. "I know how to disable you without causing serious injury." Tilting his head to the side he studied the boy thoughtfully. "In fact I'd be doing your buyer a favor because then you wouldn't be able to run away from him."

__

Beaten at his own game, d'Artagnan relinquished his weapons. Fuming at himself and disgusted into the bargain, he stood there while Chrestien bound his wrists together in front of him. Thinking the entire time about how worried sick his brothers would be when d'Artagnan didn't return, this _simple_ assignment had gone to hell in a handbasket.

__  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

Over a week on the road had past and d'Artagnan was kept in the dark as to Valois' destination. So far the malandrin had managed to keep Moulin away from him. It hadn't stopped the humiliation d'Artagnan had suffered in having to listen to snide comments, sly innuendos and insults to his parentage directed at him, nearly every mile they traveled.

In the greater scheme of things d'Artagnan thought it could have been much worse. But he admitted to himself that he was scared. He didn't know where Valois was taking him and the man himself was very tight-lipped on the subject. Holding out hope that somehow his brothers would find him, d'Artagnan simply would have to keep his wits about him. That is if he could. Oh oh! Noting Moulin taking advantage of the fact that Valois had rode out ahead to scout the area, d'Artagnan had a bad feeling.

"Ah, mon pretty garcon." Moulin grinned down at the boy where he sat on the hard ground. "Now that your protector has gone away," he rubbed at his crotch, "the mice can play, eh?" Chuckling, Moulin reached down, pulling the Gascon to his feet. Placing one hand on the young Musketeer's hip and another behind his captive's head, he anticipated an enjoyable time.

Even though the slim youth struggled against him, Moulin held the advantage since the Gascon's hands were now tied behind his back. He couldn't wait to taste this young one's full lips. Head descending, Moulin could have cheerfully throttled Comtois with his bare hands when the other man interrupted his play.

"Did you forget Chrestian's warning before he left us?" Knowing Moulin loved to live dangerously, Comtois thought the man was crazy for going against their leader's orders. He knew that Moulin wouldn't hesitate to fight him over the matter and Comtois could very well end up dead. He didn't kid himself. There was no love lost between Moulin and the rest of the men. Oh perhaps Moulin was closer with Rome than anyone else, now that Comtois thought about it. Then again Rome could be just as crazy as Moulin too. Sometimes they were like two peas in a big pod.

"Are you going to tell Chrestien about this?" Moulin chuckled, seeing fear reflected in Comtois' eyes. "I doubt it." Turning back to the subject of his desire, he snapped. "Now leave us!"

Indecision crossed Comtois' face but in the end he complied with Moulin's wishes. He knew no one, including himself, was a match for him except Chrestien.

There went any help d’Artagnan hoped to get, noting the one called Comtois turning around and leaving him to deal with Moulin’s vile attentions.

“Now where were we, mmmm?” Moulin hummed pleasantly. Anticipating the sweet taste from the young Gascon, Moulin’s lips hovered just over the boy’s.

This wasn’t happening, d’Artagnan kept repeating that mantra inside his head. Cringing, feeling Moulin’s breath ghosting over his skin, there was only one thing he could possibly get away with.

Howling in pain, bending over in agony, Moulin grabbed at his crotch. Hobbling around, he covered his most vulnerable area with his hands. Embarrassed, he heard his companion’s laughter wash over him. But he wasn’t exactly in a position to retaliate as he normally would have. So focused on obtaining his goal, Moulin had completely forgotten the boy’s legs were unshackled.

Affording himself a slight smirk, d’Artagnan raised a brow at Moulin. “I hope I didn’t cause you irreparable harm.”

“Why you…” Outraged, still in pain, and disgusted with himself for letting their captive get the better of him Moulin whipped out his dagger. “I’ll carve you up into so many pieces that no one will want to look upon you!”

“I doubt Valois is going to let that happen,” d’Artagnan remarked confidently. What Moulin didn’t see was that Valois had returned and was standing directly behind the furious cut-purse.

“Think again!” Moulin snarled out his anger on the young Gascon. “Chrestien’s not here!”

“I beg to differ,” drawled a low, deadly voice.

One hand holding his nether regions, and the other his dagger, Moulin froze. A foul expletive escaped his lips. Slowly managing to turn around, he sucked in a breath at the rage filling Chrestien’s menacing eyes. An almighty punch to Moulin’s face knocked him to the ground. The cocking of a pistol had him wondering if this day would be his last, because of his unbridled lust for the boy.

“I’ve run out of reasons to keep you around,” Chrestien ground out. Not knowing why he’d put up with Moulin this long, he came to a decision. Discharging his weapon the loud report echoed in the chill silence that fell.

Shocked at seeing Chrestien commit murder before his very eyes, d’Artagnan staggered back. The death of his antagonist was the last thing he had expected and done so cold bloodily too. It made d’Artagnan truly realize how dangerous the leader of the malandrins was.

“You are surprised, eh?” Keeping his eyes on the young Gascon, Chrestien didn’t need to look around the camp to know that his men would be quaking in fear of him. When the boy nodded back, he smiled. “Good. A lesson learned then.” One eye on his captive and the other on his men, Chrestien winked. “Also it doesn’t do for them to grow too complacent. Sometimes I need to shake them up.” Staring at the lifeless body, he shrugged. “Moulin would have harmed you, making your value to me go down and thus my profit as well.”

Momentarily at a loss for words, d’Artagnan shifted his eyes toward the deceased and back up again at Valois’ cold eyes. “Now what?” he asked, finding his voice sadly unsteady.

“We break camp and continue on, mon ami.” Lightly tapping the Musketeer on the chest, Chrestien slowly smiled. Ah and there was that Gascon fire kindling again in the boy's dark eyes.

"I'm not your friend!" If d'Artagnan's hands weren't tied he'd be wiping that smile off the malandrin's face. "Do I get to know where you're taking me yet?" Feeling the further away from Paris Valois took him, d'Artagnan's chances of rescue diminished.

"No harm for you to know now." Motioning for Foss and Lemieux to take Moulin's body away, he faced the youngster. "Cerdagne." Seeing the way the boy's eyes went wide at his words, Chrestien realized he had surprised the Musketeer yet again.

Lips thinning into a fine line, d'Artagnan's hope completely vanished. Cerdagne was nearly a three week journey from Paris. They had been already traveling well over a week so far, by his estimation. Even if Captain Treville had sent out units to search for him, d'Artagnan felt that soon the trail would grow cold and they'd never locate him. "What is at Cerdagne?"

Laughing, Chrestien studied the younger man. "It's where we'll part company and my purse grows fatter."

Heartsick, d'Artagnan remembered Aramis telling him once that God was as close as your next prayer. That God was always with you and would never abandon you. Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer for God to deliver him from this cruel fate.

++++

"What the deuce do you think happened to d'Artagnan!" Deeply worried for his protégé, Athos had held back his fears for the entire week they had been searching for the pup.

"Monseiur Lenoncourt said d'Artagnan delivered the missive and then headed back to Paris." Dark eyes colliding with the fierce, angry gaze of Porthos, Aramis avoided looking directly at Athos.

"We haven't seen any signs of blood." Mon Dieu! Perhaps Aramis shouldn't have remarked upon that, noting Athos rapidly lose all color in his face. "Tis a good thing I mean."

"Rene's unit must not 'ave found anythin' yet or they would 'ave been back by now." If the kid's hurt, Porthos would make the ones responsible pay as painfully as possible.

"Spread out," Athos ordered, nudging Roger with his knees. "Keep looking."

It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes later when Porthos met back up with Athos and Aramis, after having taken different paths to continue their search. His face was grimmer than either of his brothers had ever seen before. It didn't bode well.

Fearing to ask but knowing he needed answers, Athos asked the question burning on the tip of his tongue. "You have found something of significance?"

Opening his saddlebag, Porthos carefully handed d'Artagnan's doublet and pauldron over into Athos' shaky hands.

Staring at his pup's most prize possession, Athos clearly remembered the day he and Porthos sparred with the child. Aramis communed with nature as he looked on. They teased the boy about d'Artagnan's uniform being too new and shiny. Porthos had even said it look like the Gascon's mother had dressed him.

Then together he and Porthos lashed out with their blades marking the brand new pauldron, earning a scathing look from their youngest. D'Artagnan kept on about them minding his uniform, which of course they ignored. As was their right as older brothers. Clutching the items to his chest, Athos was afraid to raise his head. He feared the wetness in his eyes would give his sorrow away. Gruffly he said, "We carry on with the search."

Watching Athos pull away from them, Porthos' and Aramis' hearts were heavy as they followed behind. Both tried not to think upon the ramifications of what had been discovered.

++++

_Nearly two more weeks later - outskirts of Cerdagne_

"You have to be more presentable than this," Chrestien clucked. "You look like you're wearing weeks worth of dust." He chuckled, when the boy pulled away from him. Dipping a rag into a pail of water that Foss had fetched for him Chrestien began cleaning the Musketeer up, making him pretty for the auction to come.

Being so close to Cerdagne now Chrestien hadn't taken the time for any of them to wash away the grime of traveling these past few days. He needed the young Gascon to make a good impression when Chrestien showed him off on the auction block. So concerned was he on wiping away the caked-on dirt, Chrestien didn't hear the sound of the approaching caravan.

In the lead wagon sat an older, Romani couple. Their shrewd gaze settled on the youngster whose hands were bound together. Coupled with the fact that he was struggling against the older man's hold, they knew they had to step in and help him.

"Nicu, I think the gadjo could use our assistance." Head tilted toward her husband, Florica's eyes sparkled.

"I could use the exercise," Nicu grinned. Nimbly jumping down to the ground he raised a hand, waving the other male members of their group to join him. They gathered around Nicu, presenting a united front.

"Chrestien," Lemieux kept his eyes on the men slowly approaching them, "we have company."

Scowling, he threw the wet rag into the water. Turning around Chrestien had to admit that this was the last thing he had expected. Hoping they were just passing through, Chrestien turned on the charm. "May I be of service to you?"

"Looks like that chavo could use our help." Nicu's dark eyes flashed, not missing how raw the skin appeared to be around the younger one's bonds. It told him how hard the gadjo had been struggling to get free. "I think perhaps that one does not want to travel with you." Laughing along with his own men, Nicu knew the stranger was not amused. Tilting his head to the side he sized him up, assuming this was the leader.

Reading their intent, Chrestien swore. Merde! He hadn't counted on running into any trouble once they left Paris far behind them. Now this. Knowing they numbered few, should Chrestien cut and run? Watch his prize slip away from him? There weren't many options open to him if he wanted to get out of this with his skin in tact.

Believing the leader was stalling for time, Nico stepped forward. There weren't many of them to deal with, no more than five total. "Do you think you could take all of us on?"

Turning his back on them, Chrestien faced the boy. Pulling his dagger out he saw the look in the Gascon's face. If circumstances had been different, he would have enjoyed the moment.

When Valois' dagger drew close, d'Artagnan thought that the malandrin had decided to slit his throat instead of giving him up. So when instead Valois cut through his bonds, d'Artagnan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But d'Artagnan was a Musketeer and Musketeers don't cry so easily. Plus he wouldn't have given Valois the satisfaction.

"Today's your lucky day, mon garcon." Not happy by a long shot but what was Chrestien to do? He would have to find another way to fill his pockets. For he had his own debts to pay off and had been counting on the money the Gascon would have brought him. Shoving the young Musketeer away from him, he turned around and yelled at his men. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Stumbling toward freedom, d'Artagnan reached his group of rescuers.

++++

 _Translation:_  
_Gadjo_ \- non-Romani male  
_Chavo_ \- depending on how it's used, it means: boy, child or son

 _Caravan:_ refers to a group of people traveling together. The Romani in my story travel in horse drawn wagons that carry their possessions, and wherever they stop they set up tents. The story is set, as usual, during the reign of King Louis XIII (1610-1643). So the Romani here didn't have wagons built to live in like a house yet known as a Vardo. It wasn't developed until around 1810 in France and the Romani didn't begin living in them until around 1850.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another surprise in this chapter.
> 
> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_We left off with d’Artagnan being rescued_

He couldn’t get his legs to work properly, nearly falling into the many hands that were trying to keep him upright. With gratitude shining out of his dark eyes, d’Artagnan took in the concerned faces all staring at him.

“Here let me take care of this first.” Withdrawing a long blade from his sash, Nicu carefully sliced through the young man’s bonds.

Arms hanging limply by his sides, d’Artagnan felt good to be finally free of that damn rope!

Having jumped down from their wagon, with a wave of her hand Florica shooed away the remaining men still gathered together. “Let the chavo breathe for goodness sake!” Looking at the youngster’s damaged wrists she glanced at her husband. “Nicu, please get me some alcohol and clean cloths.” Noticing the flush on the chavo’s face told its own story. “Hurry, there’s no telling how long they’ve been like that.” Guiding him over, Florica sat the young one down on an overturned empty barrel someone had kindly removed from one of the other wagons. Feeling his forehead, she grimaced at the heat she felt there. “How long were you their captive?”

Squinting his eyes at her, d’Artagnan shook his head to clear it. Funny he hadn’t felt this hot earlier. Staring down at his torn and bleeding wrists, he hissed in pain. Now that the bonds had been removed, feeling was coming back into them with a vengeance. “About three weeks, give or take. Valois and his gang were taking me to Cerdagne to sell me to the highest bidder.” He didn't know why he bothered adding that last part but they had done d'Artagnan the favor of getting him out of Valois' clutches and felt they deserved that much. Trying to rub the pain away from his abused flesh, d'Artagnan's fingers inched their way toward his wrists. But he barely touched them when the older woman slapped his hand away.

Tapping his cheek sharply, Florica grinned. “Chaveja, pay attention to me and not your injury.” She worked quietly and efficiently on the wounds, holding his wrists firmly when the gadjo struggled trying to pull them away. The entire time Florica devoted to tending him she thought about what he had revealed. “Then it was good fortune that we arrived when we did."

"He was bostaris!" Nicu spat on the ground.

Raising a brow high, d'Artagnan chuckled tiredly. "I agree," he dipped his head. "Valois was a _bastard_."

"You know our language then, young gadjo?" Nicu was surprised.

"Somewhat." D'Artagnan observed the older woman cleaning away the dirt and grime that had accumulated underneath the rope. "It has been quite awhile since I've been amongst the Romani hearing it spoken," he admitted shyly. "So I may be a bit rusty."

Taking in the young one's olive complexion, Florica felt a stirring in her breast. "Where are you from?”

“Er, ummmm,” d’Artagnan was slow to respond to such a simple question. He put it down to the fever he felt burning. “Paris.” That single word was about all he felt capable of at the moment.

“You don’t have the look of a Parisian about you.” Satisfied, Florica finished wrapping his wrists. Handing her supplies back to Nicu, who stood patiently by her side, she once more cast a critical eye back on the gadjo.

“Bien,” d’Artagnan shrugged, “before that I came from Gascony.”

“Ah!” she exclaimed, confirming a few random thoughts floating around in her head. “May I ask where exactly?”

“So many questions,” d’Artagnan huffed, holding his wrists close to his chest. Feeling that he did owe them a debt, he replied quietly. “Lupiac.” Curious as to the way the woman kept looking over at the man beside her, d'Artagnan wondered what that signified. Both of them appeared to be surprised at his answer. Perhaps they had traveled through Lupiac recently. “Has something else happened there that I’m not aware of? I have been gone over a year and haven’t been back since.”

“Not that we know of,” Nicu answered honestly. Pulling Florica aside, he could see excitement building in her face. "He does have the look of Alexandre about him," he whispered in her ear.

"Mmmmm," Florica hummed in agreement, her head nearly touching that of her husband's. Stepping back from Nicu, she turned toward the youngster. "By any chance is your father Alexandre d'Artagnan?"

After everything he had been put through, this was the last thing he had expected to chance upon. Eventually when d'Artagnan reunited with his brothers they would be amazed at his stroke of luck. For what were the odds that this couple would have knowledge of his papa? "Oui, but my papa died over a year ago when we arrived in Paris."

Sadness filled the older couple at the young Gascon's words.

"He was a good man," Nicu said, laying a hand on the chavo's shoulder. He squeezed it gently in sympathy.

"Oui, he was." Tilting his head, d'Artagnan studied them closely. There was something there just in the back of his mind. Something very familiar about them that he just couldn't put his finger on. Evidently if they had met his papa at some point it stood to reason they knew d'Artagnan as well.

"We are sorry for your loss, Charles." Leaning over Florica placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"It would seem my memory is faulty as I do not recall either of you." More than curious now, d'Artagnan needed to find out who they were.

"Cikneja, don't remember your Florica and Nicu," she chided. Hearing her husband chuckling, Florica poked him in the side. "I know we have grown old to your young eyes but our faces couldn't have changed that much."

Instantly coming to his feet, d'Artagnan stood in front of the older couple with his mouth gaping open. Coming back to his senses, he was overjoyed with this discovery. Of course! That's what had been bothering him. "I was eight years of age when your clan left Lupiac after our last harvest." Gazing on them sadly he tacked on, "I expected all of you to return to us like you had before."

"Ah, Charles," Florica patted his cheek, "we had other places to go... other places to see."

"It seems you didn't need us after all." Nicu tried to lighten the mood. "You've grown into such a fine, strong young man." He approved very much at what he saw.

"By my estimation you should be about nineteen now." Oh Florica remembered her wild chavo constantly trailing after her. Always full of questions. His chatter never once bothered her. For she and Nicu weren't blessed to have children of their own. Charles always had been a delight to their senses. Many a time they used to tease Alexandre that they wanted to adopt him and take Charles off his hands. "We have missed many birthdays." Turning to look at Nicu she winked. "Time to make up for them I think."

"Oh you don't have to do that," d'Artagnan protested. "All I really want to do is get back to the Garrison. My brothers have to be going crazy looking for me by now." Frowning, he realized the inseparables may even think he was dead.

" _Brothers_?" Nicu shared a confused look with Florica. "Charles, you never had any."

"My _brothers-in-arms_." It appeared that neither of them had caught on yet, making d'Artagnan feel the lack of his pauldron on his shoulder all the more.

"Charles," Florica came closer to him, "what exactly is it you do?"

"I'm a Musketeer." Knowing that he completely shocked them with his answer, d'Artagnan gazed ruefully at his lack of uniform. "When those malandrins came upon me my horse had thrown a shoe. With the weather being warm I shed my doublet and pauldron," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Both of which I'm sadly without now otherwise you may have recognized I belonged to the king's regiment."

"I would never have guessed our chavo would go from working a farm to becoming a churo-mengro." Shaking his head in wonder, Nicu was proud of Charles. "I believe your father would have applauded your choice."

"My thanks for saying that, Nicu." Thinking about his papa, d'Artagnan's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I'd like to believe that as well."

"Chaveja, are in luck." Hooking their arms together, Florica led Charles over to their wagon. "Paris is exactly where we were headed."

++++

_Nearly a week later - Athos' apartments_

"You can't just up and leave!" Yelling at his brother hadn't improved Aramis' disposition. With what they've been dealing with since d'Artagnan's loss, his temper had been on a short fuse.

"Watch me!" Athos growled, throwing clothes into his satchel. "Treville can't afford to keep sending out units looking for d'Artagnan. Even I know that."

"Yeah." Porthos stood up and walked over to where Aramis was leaning against the wall. "But goin' out there alone is an idiotic thing ta do."

"Now I'm an _idiot_?" One eyebrow rose extremely high. Shooting Porthos an irritated look, Athos threw the satchel over his shoulder.

"Ya know that's not what I meant." Rolling his eyes, Porthos shook a fist at Athos.

"If Porthos didn't mean it," Aramis butted in, "I do!"

"Look let's all go tagether," Porthos offered, trying to keep the peace.

"How many times do I have to go over this with you both?" Exasperated with his friends Athos turned his back on them, heading for the door. Turning around before leaving his features softened. "Treville already gave us ample time to search for our pup. Tis not his fault we've come up empty."

"I know the captain said that the king expects his best men in attendance for this fancy soiree he's putting on." His eyes darkened thinking upon having to do palace duty while their youngest was out there without them. Aramis had never been good at taking orders so another black mark on his record wouldn't bother him in the slightest. "Suddenly though I feel an illness coming on." Grinning at Porthos, he could see shared amusement there as well.

His eldest brother's face looked like it was carved out of stone, still Porthos laughed at it. "I got whatever 'e's gettin'," he pointed toward the marksman.

"You're both risking your commissions." Speaking slowly, as if his friends were dimwitted, Athos needed them to understand the urgency of his words.

"They're ours to risk," countered Aramis. Folding his arms, still leaning against the wall with his chapeau tipped low, he was all casualness. "Besides d'Artagnan's worth it."

"Damn straight the whelp is!"

Giving up, Athos dropped his satchel to the floor. "Make ready then I want to leave before I lose the light of day."

Walking past him, Aramis smirked. "You do realize that Porthos and I would have met up with you on the road at some point."

"Oui," Athos smiled. "But I enjoy a good argument."

"We won't be long," Porthos said. "This time we ain't comin' back without 'im."

++++

_Notes:_

I forgot to add this to chapter 2. It's there now as well but a _Caravan:_ refers to a group of people traveling together. The Romani in my story travel in horse drawn wagons that carry their possessions, and wherever they stop they set up tents. The story is set, as usual, during the reign of King Louis XIII (1610-1643). So the Romani here didn't have wagons built to live in like a house yet known as a Vardo. It wasn't developed until around 1810 in France and the Romani didn't begin living in them until around 1850.

As most of you know by now, I try to stick with the original age Dumas had d'Artagnan when the boy arrived in Paris. Which was eighteen years of age. With the show having d'Artagnan become a Musketeer at the end of season one, we can only assume about a year had passed. Hence making him nineteen in my story.

 _Gadjo_ \- non-Romani male  
_Chavo_ \- depending on how it's used, it means: boy, child or son  
_Chaveja_ \- you, boy  
_Bostaris_ \- a bastard  
_Cikneja_ \- you, little one  
_Churo-mengro_ \- soldier, swordsman


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See Notes below.
> 
> ++++

_Late in the afternoon, same day, back on the road - Looking for traces of d’Artagnan_

“Why didn’t the captin’ believe us?” When Treville had stared at him and Aramis, Porthos knew that the officer had seen through their subterfuge while they lied through their teeth about being sick.

“How was I to know that the captain would actually want to see us?” Aramis huffed, tugging gently on Belle’s reins for her to take the fork in the road behind Athos. “Usually he took our word for it.”

“Neither one of you appeared ill,” Athos threw over his shoulder. “Plus I had already asked for a leave of absence,” he smirked. “It wouldn’t have taken Treville long to figure out that soon you two would follow me.” He was taking his brothers back toward the lands of Monsieur Lenoncourt where his protégé was last seen. There had to be a clue that they had missed as to what had befallen their youngest. Or perhaps Athos could vent his frustration by shaking the truth out of anyone they found who may have been a witness to the lad’s disappearance. Easy mission my ass! Next one Treville hands out to the pup they’ll all tag along. No matter how much of a fuss d’Artagnan creates over their over protective streak.

“We’re just lucky the captain was in a generous mood and let you and I accompany Athos,” Aramis hummed.

“Next time we wanna pull somethin’ like this,” Porthos glared at the marksman, “we better get an excuse from the doc.”

Eyebrows riding high Aramis’ tilted his head to the side, gazing at his brother. “You think Devereaux would lie for us?”

“’E ‘as in the past,” Porthos grunted, nudging Roulette in the sides. They were starting to fall way behind Athos.

“Oh really?” This was the first Aramis had ever heard about it.

“Porthos!” Athos turned in his saddle with one eyebrow arched. “May I remind you that Aramis was away on an assignment without us when that occurred.”

“Yeah… right.” Trying not to look back into Aramis’ curious eyes, Porthos rode past him until he was abreast of Athos. “Forgot I wasn’t s’pose ta say anythin’.”

“Keep it that way,” was Athos’ clipped response. “We have more important matters to worry upon for the moment.”

Catching up to his two friends, Aramis decided to let it drop. Knowing that sooner or later he’d get the truth from Porthos, he could bide his time. But Athos was correct. Right now what mattered the most was finding their lost Gascon.

++++

They had been traveling for nearly a week now and evening would soon be upon them once again. After Florica and Nicu talked it over with the other members of their group it was unanimously decided that camp would be made for the night, and in the morning they would continue their journey to Paris.

Having earlier been introduced to nearly everyone, d’Artagnan went to help Gyorgy gather up enough branches and twigs to build up a nice campfire.

Being too quiet for d’Artagnan, he broke the silence first. “I feel underdressed.” Envying the colorful red bandanna tied around Gyorgy’s head along with a matching red baggy shirt opened clear to the waist, d’Artagnan glanced down upon his own filthy shirt and leather pants, grimacing in distaste.

Dark eyes twinkling, Gyorgy pointed to his own black jerkin which was richly embroidered with golden threads, matching the golden sash above his baggy black pants. “You would have to ask my daya to make you one like mine then.”

“Perhaps,” d’Artagnan mused. “Right now I’d settle for something solid in my stomach and a good nights sleep.” Gyorgy slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over with the force of it. He was almost as strong as his friend Porthos.

“Which you shall have, my young friend.” Arms full, Gyorgy and Charles headed back to their camp.

++++

Sitting around the blazing fire, his belly now full from a hearty rabbit stew that rivaled his brother Porthos’, d’Artagnan leaned back against a large log.

Her head laying on Nicu’s shoulder, Florica’s gaze swept over Charle’s sleepy face.

“Devlesa araklam tume,” she spoke softly to the chavo.

“If I had Aramis’ rosaries on me,” d’Artagnan smiled tiredly, “I’d kiss them in thanks.”

“Is Aramis one of your friends?” Nicu leaned forward to add more branches to the fire.

“Aramis, Athos and Porthos.” Breathing out each name almost reverently, d’Artagnan had to look away from his old friends.

“What is it, Charles,” Nicu asked, observing the chavo’s brown eyes glisten from the firelight.

“I worry what they are going through right now, probably believing I am dead and lost to them.” Lifting his chin up, d’Artagnan gazed into the campfire’s dancing flames, listening to the rhythm of Stevo’s guitar begin to lull him to sleep.

“Cikneja, keep them in your heart with you always, mmmmm?” Sharing a concerned look with her husband, Florica stood up.

“Always,” d’Artagnan repeated quietly from behind heavy lids. “They are the brothers of my heart and soul.”

Holding out her hand to Nicu, Florica grinned. “Boona. It is how it should always be with family. Now come, Charles. Time for bed.”

Chuckling, d’Artagnan got back up to follow Florica and Nicu to the tent they had given him to share with Fonso. Before entering he looked back at them. “I feel like a petit garcon again being ordered by papa to turn in for the night,” ducking his head shyly he felt Florica’s light kiss upon his forehead. “Bonne nuit.”

Watching him as he lifted the tent’s flap to go inside, Nicu hugged his wife close whispering, “Makes you wish he had been ours.”

Hugging Nicu back in turn, Florica led him to their own tent.

++++

_Earlier - outside Lenoncourt’s estate_

“Merde!” Athos swore violently. “They had been questioning Monsieur Lenoncourt’s staff once again without success.

“Athos,” Aramis touched his brother’s arm, “calm yourself. You’re not doing anyone any good this way.”

“It won’t ‘elp our search any either if ya go off half-cocked the way ya are.” Stepping back a pace or two there was a moment there where Porthos thought Athos was going to take a swing at him.

“Both of you leave me be!” Storming off Athos mounted Roger, leaving his two worried friends behind.

“If the worst happens I’m afraid we may have lost two in our little family,” Aramis murmured, crossing himself.

“Ain’t gonna ‘appen,” Porthos promised. “Kid’s alive.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I feel it in ‘ere.”

“I do hope you are correct, mon frere.” Tipping his chapeau back from his forehead, Aramis held a hand up to his eyes following Athos’ direction. “Now we better go after our brother or we will lose him.”

Right before Porthos and Aramis were to gain their horses, a young lad not more than ten years of age came out of the woods.

“Monsieur Musketeers.” Franck came walking toward them. When the two soldiers turned his way he suddenly became frightened and went to duck behind some trees, or Franck at least tried too, but couldn’t when the larger Musketeer grabbed him by the arm.

“Now don’t go runnin’ away or else we’ll think ya don’t like our company,” Porthos winked at the whelp. "I'm Porthos and the arrogant one is Aramis. What's your name?"

“Franck," he whispered, overcome with shyness standing beside these two men. "Ummmm." Licking his lips nervously, glancing from the big Musketeer to the other one who seemed amused by it all, Franck finally found his voice again. “I work in the stables and heard you asking questions about d’Artagnan.”

“You met him then?” queried Aramis.

“Oui, I tended his horse while he was with Monsieur Lenoncourt.” Beginning to feel more at ease, Franck told them what he knew. “D’Artagnan loved horses like I do so we had much to discuss before he left us.”

“Yeah, the kid’s great with 'em,” Porthos agreed. “Now what did ya need ta tell us?”

“I was by the lake that lies on the estate and noticed a group of men watering their horses. It’s private property and they shouldn’t have been there and I was going to tell them that.” Watching the two Musketeers patiently wait for his story to unfold, Franck hesitated to go on.

Holding up his hands, Aramis tried to look non-threatening. "Honestly Porthos and I are pussycats." Tilting dangerously from the heavy punch his brother just gave him, Aramis cleared his throat. "Actually I'm the pussycat. Porthos is," he glanced at his friend's irate face, "bien... just Porthos."

Giggling, Franck bobbed his head. "I see what you mean, Monsieur Aramis."

"Now you were saying?" Sidestepping Porthos' chapeau his brother swung at him, Aramis prayed whatever Franck had to tell them would lead them to d'Artagnan.

"I changed my mind about saying anything to them since there were so many. Instead I circled from behind and hid in the woods. Still I could easily hear what they talked about," Franck explained.

"Did they mention d'Artagnan specifically?" This could be the break they had been waiting for. Taking out his rosary, Aramis began to finger the beads.

"Non," Franck shook his head. "Not by name but one of the other men had been very angry. He mentioned something about losing a tidy sum on the _Gascon_ because of the Romani interfering."

" _Gascon!_ " Hope filled Porthos' aching heart. He was right. Their whelp still lived. He could have danced at the news. At least they wouldn't be searching for the kid's corpse which is what Porthos was beginning to dread, even though he told Aramis otherwise.

"Has to be our pup. Tis too much of a coincidence for it to be anything else." Hearing the approach of a horse and rider, Aramis instantly turned around unsheathing his rapier. Seeing that it was only Athos who had doubled back, he was happy to have some good news for his eldest brother.

"Kid, did ya hear where d'Artagnan was?"

"The angry one said they had made the trip to Cerdagne for nothing." Hoping he had been of some help Franck was going to leave until the darker-skinned Musketeer laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Merci." Porthos smiled down at the whelp. "Ya can't know what ya said means ta us."

Digging a few coins from his pocket Aramis was going to give them to the lad for his help but noted Franck was shaking his head at him.

"Monsieur Lenoncourt pays well," Franck shrugged. "Besides I wanted to help d'Artagnan."

Ruffling the whelp's unruly hair, Porthos grinned. "Ever consider a career in the Musketeers when you're older? Ya did pretty good."

Blushing at the compliment, Franck ducked his head. "I'd rather tend horses, Monsieur Porthos," he grinned impishly. "Tis a much safer occupation."

Snorting his amusement Aramis' dark eyes sparkled with excitement. This had been their first ray of light in an otherwise very dark tunnel. Thanking the lad again Aramis turned toward a glowering Athos.

"Why were you not following me?" Athos all but growled at them, impatient to be getting on.

Pointing to the youngster heading back toward the estate, Aramis bowed before his friend. "We have been fortunate to discover what happened to our young one."

"What the deuce are you talking about?" Heart in his throat, Athos swallowed hard. They needed a miracle. Was it possible this was it?

++++

_Next afternoon_

"Charles, what are you thinking?" The chavo was sitting between Florica and Nicu on their wagon and appeared deep in thought.

"Oh just the past when you and Nicu were part of a different caravan plying your trade wherever you could." Leaning into her gentle touch upon his face, d'Artagnan remembered. "I think nearly every woman in Gascony was coming to you, Florica, for your homemade goods."

"Ah, don't forget my tinkering was in great demand as well." Nicu puffed out his chest pleased with the chavo's laughter. "Most of those women were overjoyed to finally get their pots and pans repaired. Saving them from purchasing new ones."

"You always seemed to have known when to return in time for our harvests," d'Artagnan said, thinking back again. "Papa depended on your help very much you know."

"We do know." Clasping the chavo's hand in her own Florica also thought back to those good times, and they were _good_. "Nicu, remember when Charles was around nine years old and Alexandre finally relented letting him come to our camp all by himself?"

"How could I forget," Nicu chuckled. "Charles was into everything. Watching us work, trying his hand at basket-making and even wire-working."

"Ah in my defense," d'Artagnan held up a finger, "I lived on a farm and everything you did fascinated me."

Lightly carding her fingers through the chavo's hair, Florica sighed. "Did you know we used to tease Alexandre endlessly about wanting to adopt you?"

"Non. I had no idea." Noting amusement in the two older faces grinning back at him he asked, "What did papa have to say to that?"

"Your papa told us he'd think about it when you were older," Nicu winked at the chavo.

"Sounds like something papa would say." D'Artagnan laughed along with them. "But what I missed most were the nights papa would take me with him to your camp." He bumped his shoulder against Florica's. "The singing and dancing, your music... all of it made me feel alive like I never had before."

"Chaveja, had fit in like you had been born one of us." Catching Charle's eye, Nicu made sure the chavo heard the pride in his voice.

"I missed all of you so terribly when it was always time for you to leave." Noting the couple's obvious sadness, d'Artagnan knew they had felt the same way. "Then eventually you never returned."

"Traveling is not a past-time or leisure activity for us, Charles," Florica pointed out. "It's a way of life."

"Oui," d'Artagnan nodded. "Papa used to say it was as natural for the Roma to move as it was for the majority of the population of Gascony to stay in one place."

"I missed Alexandre very much." Nicu shook his head, thinking of his old friend. He had been one of the finest men Nicu had ever had the privilege of knowing.

Seeing the glum faces of both her husband and Charles, Florica waved her hand in the air. "Ach! Dosta!" Which, of course, made both men glance at her strangely. "Time to talk of other things." Nudging the chavo in the side, she grinned slyly. "Perhaps later during our next stop we'll enjoy some of that singing and dancing you mentioned, Charles."

"Nais tuke," d'Artagnan dipped his head. "I'll look forward to that."

"See!" Nicu laughed out loud at the chavo's words, slapping one hand against his leg. "There are some things you don't forget ever!"

Understanding that Nicu referred to d'Artagnan's knowledge of their language, something warm unfurled in his chest. He was with people he knew and who had loved him as a child. The only thing that could have made this moment better would have been for d'Artagnan's friends to be with him this very minute.

++++

_Notes:_

For those who may be wondering the inseparables didn't get to leave to search for their Gascon for nearly a week when Athos took his leave. And the caravan has been traveling for nearly a week too, making it all work out timewise. And since Christien no longer had d'Artagnan to slow them down, he and his men headed back toward Paris where he based his operation. They made it back in good time, hence their appearance near Lenoncourt's estate. 

_Translations:_  
_Daya_ – mother  
_Chavo_ – depending on how it’s used, it means: boy, child or son  
_Devlesa araklam tume_ – It is with God that we found you  
_Cikneja_ – you, little one  
Chaveja - you, boy  
Boona - good  
_Ach_ \- stop  
_Dosta_ \- enough  
_Nais tuke_ \- thank you  
_Caravan -_ refers to a group of people traveling together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made some minor changes to chapter 3 and posted on chapter 4 at the bottom about the current timeline. So if you read chapter 4 before I put those changes there, you may want to go back and look at them.
> 
> Also see notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day later in the afternoon after traveling for several hours straight_

Keeping her promise to Charles, Florica and Nicu had the caravan stop near a stream where they would be able to fill their nearly empty barrels with fresh water. The others listened to Florica when she clapped her hands together, gaining their attention.

"The chavo here was remembering the old days when he knew Nicu and myself." Ruffling Charle's dark hair she laughed when he swatted her hand away.

"Just like my brothers," d'Artagnan mumbled, earning much laughter from the older couple.

"Charle's appreciated our music. He was very young at the time but showed much potential when we taught him our dances." Looking out into the approving smiles from her people, Florica was pleased. "So I have decided that we should revive his memories." Her joyous expression reflected pride in her heritage.

After Florica's announcement, some of the men went back to their own wagons to retrieve their instruments. Spreading out into a huge circle they were soon ready to entertain.

Having a ring-side seat on the ground, between where Nico and Florica sat on top of some tree stumps, d'Artagnan anticipated an exciting experience.

The fiddlers, Merikano and Yanko were joined by Stevo on his guitar. The latter winked, smiling at the young Gascon's delighted expression. Accompanying him on another guitar was Andrzej. Pitivo brought out his panpipe, while beautiful notes from Guaril's flute filled the air.

Soon Truffeni's lilting tones drifted over them.

"Voliv tut ages."  
"Voliv tut tehara."  
"Voliv tut nai."  
"Desar mai anglal."  
"Khel, khel, khel thai gilaba."  
"Khel, khel, khel thai gilaba."  
"Av, av, av vesolo!"  
"Av, av, av vesolo!"

As she sang everyone, including d'Artagnan, clapped their hands to the rhythm of the guitars while loudly shouting.

"Cikneja, is this what you remember?" Her eyes dancing, Florica was happy with Charle's quick response.

"Makes me want to go out there and dance," d'Artagnan admitted, his feet tapping out its own rhythm.

"Then do so, chavo." Clapping his hands, Nicu nodded to Syeira and Reyna.

"I haven't done this since the last time I was with you both." Nervously getting up, d'Artagnan dusted himself off and joined the two lovely women.

Twirling around d'Artagnan, Reyna's and Syeira's lithe bodies swayed to the sounds of the music as the tempo increased.

Letting the sounds flow through him, d'Artagnan tried to match their movements. It did indeed bring back memories of when a much younger Florica and Nicu tried to tutor him in the art.

Playing with her long flowing skirt, Reyna spun around d'Artagnan several times. Her slim arms held high, hands clapping to the vibrant Roma music as she lost herself in the rhythm. Trailing several colorful scarves over the young man's face Reyna began laughing as his eyes widened in surprise.

Guaril threw Syeira a tambourine which she deftly caught in mid air. Easily matching the range of emotions the Roma music produced within her, such as joy, fierceness and compassion, Syeira never missed a beat.

Not to be outdone Reyna wrapped her arms around d'Artagnan's waist, both improvising unabashedly their mutual enjoyment of the dance. Their quick and rhythmic footwork brought to life their own interpretation of the energetic music.

When it all came to a climatic end, d'Artagnan's chest was heaving from the unaccustomed exertion. Having prior to this discarded his filthy clothes, he was dressed in similar fashion to the other Romani men. With his olive-toned complexion, darkened by hours in the sun during his travels with Chrestien's band, he could almost pass for one of them. His white, billowing shirt parted and all could see the sweat glistening on his skin.

"Well done, Charles!" Applauding the youngster, Nicu's grin threatened to split his face. "Are you absolutely sure you would rather stay a churo-mengro than remain with us?"

Laughing, still trying to catch his breath, d'Artagnan gazed fondly at him. "If I ever get tired of regimental life I'll look you up."

"What a waste of all that passion, little gadjo." Slapping the Gascon on the back, Stevo chuckled.

"Bien," d'Artagnan countered, "there's passion in fighting one's enemies with an excellent blade just as well." Momentarily he was distracted when Mala sauntered past them. Her long, dark braided hair swung back and forth with each step she took. Bangled bracelets, on Mala's slender arms, caught the sun's dimming rays. Feeling a sudden slap up the backside of his head, d'Artagnan turned around expecting to see his brother Porthos standing there wearing an idiotic grin. Instead it was to look into Florica's stern expression. "May I ask why you felt the need to do that?"

Hooking her arm into the chavo's, her features softened. "She is married, Charles. As are most of our women."

"All I did was _look_ ," d'Artagnan defended himself, crossing his arms, frowning at her. "I remember very well what you told me when I was just a garcon."

"You are still only a chavo to us," Florica added pleasantly, much to Charle's disgust while she patted his cheek. "I know you would not cause harm."

"Then you understand that our unattached young men and women do not socialize alone together," Nicu reminded him. "You have grown into a handsome chavo and it hasn't escaped our notice how some of the women have been watching you." He didn't mean to upset Charles but this was something he wanted to nip in the bud. After a week of traveling together, Nicu felt it wise to say something now. "We place great value on them."

"Yes," Florica tapped the chavo on the nose, "so stay away from them and the married ones."

"Good thing Aramis isn't here," d'Artagnan sullenly muttered. He knew his older brother could no more restrain himself around a lovely woman than one could stop the sun from rising each morning.

"For now let us listen to Tobar and afterwards we'll continue our journey until the sun sets." Nodding for the older man to begin, Nicu and Charles sat back down.

Once more the Roma took up their instruments when Tobar began.

"Pas o panori."  
"Chajori Romani."  
"Me la igen kamav."  
"Joj mamo, joj mamo."  
"De man pani mamo."  
"De man pani mamo."  
"De mam pani."  
"Pas o panori."  
"Be selas korkori."  
"Pre ma uzarelas."

As Tobar's tenor faded away, the soft strains of Merikano's and Yanko's violin strings brought the song to its conclusion.

++++

Worry still weighed heavily upon the inseparable's shoulders despite the lead they had been given, courtesy of Franck. Taking the route to Cerdagne each man tried to carry hope within them that their pup hadn't been injured during his latest mishap.

By the sounds of it d'Artagnan had escaped a dire fate, for the inseparables were quite aware of the slave auctions that took place in parts of Cerdagne. According to young Franck he had mentioned that one of the men blamed losing their youngest to the Romani. Knowing d'Artagnan was in safer hands didn't lessen the urgency for them to all be reunited.

Riding in the lead, Aramis kept feeling tiny pellets hitting his chapeau. Looking up into the air, he squinted. The sky was clear as day. No rain or hail in sight. Sighing, he adjusted his chapeau more firmly upon his head. When it kept happening, Aramis pulled on Belle's reins to make her stop.

Swiveling his head from left to right, he still saw nothing untoward. It was when Aramis heard Porthos' deep chuckles from behind him that he shifted in his saddle. Turning his body slightly, he caught sight of the obscene glee in his brother's face. Darkly eyeing the handful of tiny stones in Porthos' huge hand, Aramis was more than perturbed.

Tossing a couple of pebbles up and down, Porthos grinned. "'Ave ta occupy myself doin' somethin'."

"Athos!" snapped a very disgruntled Aramis. "Can you not keep him in line?"

Snorting quietly, Athos pulled abreast of the marksman. "When in this lifetime have I ever been able to accomplish that task?"

"Hmmph!" Aramis grunted. "Perhaps after we catch up to d'Artagnan, Porthos could pick on the lad."

"All I want is to find our youngest unharmed." Tightening his grip on Roger's reins, Athos' lips thinned into a tight line. "Since coming to Paris I have never seen such a one as him to garner so much trouble."

"Kid ain't the only one that finds _trouble_ , Athos." Staring at the back of Aramis' head, Porthos began to laugh. "Mis 'ere gets 'imself involved with the wrong kind of woman all the time. There ain't a week goes by when a husband goes knockin' on the captin's door ta complain about bein' cuckolded," his dark eyes twinkled merrily. "In my book that's what ya call _trouble_."

Twisting in his saddle again, Aramis pouted at his friend's words. "Can I help it if the women in Paris find me charming and attractive?" Tipping his hat at his brothers, Aramis' lips tilted upward. "And tis not _every_ week, Porthos," he added cheekily. "Every other week perhaps."

"Porthos does make a good point," Athos agreed, keeping his amusement at bay while enjoying his brother's banter.

"It was much better when d'Artagnan was here." Concentrating on the path ahead, Aramis tried to ignore them.

"Sure it was. Cause then we'd be all gangin' up on the kid."

Letting Porthos egg Aramis on, Athos figured it was one way to keep all their thoughts from dwelling too much upon missing their young Gascon. Not a man to put much faith in God, as Aramis did, Athos hoped this one time that his prayer for d'Artagnan's safekeeping hadn't been in vain.

++++

_Notes:_

_Caravan:_ refers to a group of people traveling together.  
_Chavo_ \- depending on how it's used, it means: boy, child or son.  
_Cikneja_ \- you, little one.  
_Gadjo_ \- non-Romani male.  
_Churo-mengro_ \- soldier, swordsman.

The loud shouts that are called out rhythmically across the musical melody and rhythm during a dancer's performance is referred to as Strigaturi.

The song: _Voliv Tut Ages_ means I Love You Today. Here are the words...  
_I love you today._  
_I'll love you tomorrow._  
_But I'll love you much more._  
_Than ever before._  
_Dance, dance, dance and sing._  
_Dance, dance, dance and sing._  
_Be, be, be happy!_  
_Be, be, be happy!_

The song: _Pas o Panori_ means Near the Water. Here are the words...  
_Near the water._  
_Sweet Romani girl._  
_I love her very much._  
_Hey oh mother, hey oh mother._  
_Give me water, mother._  
_Give me water, mother._  
_Give me water._  
_Beside the dear water._  
_She was sitting alone._  
_She was cleansing me._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

Another week had passed without incident. His time being held captive now a thing of the past. Beginning to feel like he lived a charmed life, d’Artagnan was brought back down to earth fast from a hard shove to his upper back. Throwing out a hand he prevented himself from tipping onto the hard ground. He had been kneeling over, turning the spits, cooking a pair of rabbits that he had caught earlier to serve for their noon meal.

Turning around with a scowl on his face, d’Artagnan didn’t have to search out the culprit or in this case culprits. Noting Luludja and Mirella standing near one of the wagons laughing and pointing at him, he stood up. “What’s the big idea? I could have fallen into the fire.” There wasn’t much heat behind his words, though clearly he was still annoyed.

The two women were amused at the youngster’s ire. Hands on shapely hips, smirks widening on their attractive faces, they tossed their heads back arrogantly.

“Chaveja, were daydreaming and the rabbits were on the verge of being charred.” Luludja wrinkled up her pretty nose.

“A taste I have not acquired yet.” Arching an eyebrow at the Gascon, Mirela sent her point home.

Glancing at the rabbits, sure enough d’Artagnan could see where he had begun to burn them, if not for the timely intervention of the women. On his haunches again, he tended to the spits. “Apologies.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at them. “I was thinking back to what almost befell me.”

When gentle fingers threaded through his long hair, d’Artagnan bent his head back slightly encountering Mirela’s dark, sympathetic eyes.

“That time has come and gone, Charles. You are nearly back where you belong.” Letting her hand drop to the side Mirela turned away, her colorful red and orange skirts swirling around her long, slender legs.

“Listen to her, little gadjo.” Joining Charles, Florica rested a hand on top of his head. “Yes, you escaped a horrible fate and would have been lost to nearly everyone you cared for.” Then clapping both hands to her chest she closed her eyes. Opening them again they locked onto Nicu’s all too understanding ones. “Now you only have to look toward your bright future.” With a sharp wrap on the young man’s head Florica went to help prepare the rest of their meal.

Rubbing the soreness away d’Artagnan heard Nicu’s laughter from behind him.

“First Mirela now Florica,” he huffed. “By the time we reach Paris I’ll have lumps on top of my head from all the thumping it’s received.”

“No worries. I will protect you from our women.” Bending over Charle’s shoulder, Nicu inspected the cooked rabbits. “Seems like they rescued our lunch just in time.” Having listened in to the chavo’s conversation with Mirela and Luludja, a frown marred his craggy features. He too thought about the group of men that had kidnapped Charles. “Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata.”

“One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness,” d’Artagnan snorted. ‘Pretty much described Chrestien Valois, his gang and their ilk.”

“And best forgotten for now.” Helping Charles remove the rabbits from the spit Nicu then brought them over to Florica, Drina and Mala. Glancing over his shoulder he caught sight of the chavo leaning against a wagon. Wanting to change the subject he asked Charles, “Do you still know how to tinker?”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan nodded. “I surprised my brothers one day as I worked on a few pieces while we were out on an assignment.” Rubbing the sweat off the back of his neck, d’Artagnan’s lips twitched. “When we got back to the Garrison Porthos couldn’t wait to tell old Serge I possessed such a skill. After Serge found out he damn well had me repairing most of the useless tinware in his kitchen.”

“It’s a handy trade to be sure.” Nicu winked at him.

“I enjoyed doing that plus woodworking way more than I cared for chair-bottoming.” Taking the hot plate of food Drina handed him, d’Artagnan smiled at her. “Nais tuke.” Going over to where Nicu and the other men sat he joined them.

"I remember once when I taught you how to wrap splits on a chair." His gaze full of warmth as it settled on Charles, Nicu remembered teaching the eight year old Gascon.

Almost spitting out a piece of rabbit meat d'Artagnan had been eating he swallowed it down with some water before he choked on it. "Papa nearly had a fit when I tore the top off of his best chair to test my newly acquired knowledge."

"I got called on the carpet for that one," Nicu admitted. "Alexandre never let you touch another chair again, I believe."

"He threatened to give me bread and water for dinner from that point on if I did," d'Artagnan laughed. It was a nice memory. "Of course I never had the urge to do so again."

"At least you have the good times to remember with your father." Finishing his meal Nicu set his plate aside.

"Oui." D'Artagnan too was done eating. "They were the best. I dredge them up whenever I feel down." A friendly slap on his back from Nicu and both of them went to take their empty plates back over to the women.

"You should not let the memory of Alexandre's death color the rest of your life especially now that you are with the Musketeers." Nicu did not want that for his very young Gascon friend.

"Athos, Porthos and Aramis keep me on my toes. There's hardly time to brood on things that can't be changed."

"Boona!" Coming over to the two men Florica placed a hand on Charle's cheek. "I am a firm believer that keeping busy helps your soul." She shot a look at Nicu one he immediately recognized.

Squeezing Charle's shoulder, Nicu winked at him. "Jalno. Our supplies need to be checked."

"Suddenly Nicu needs to check the supplies again? He just did it not too long ago." Arching a brow that would have done Athos proud d'Artagnan studied Florica, a question obvious in his look.

Patting the chavo's hand she had taken into her own Florica pulled him away from the others. Finding a spot where they could sit together she said, "Nicu knew I wanted to speak with you."

"Here I thought only my brothers had the art of silent communication down pat," he chuckled.

"It's like that when people are close like Nicu and I are." She patted his hand again. "It will be that way with you and your friends, if it isn't already." Florica looked at him curiously, a glint in her dark eyes. "There's something I've been wanting to ask, cikneja, since you haven't mentioned it. But is there some young woman in your life pining for your affections?"

Feeling heat blooming on his cheeks, d'Artagnan ducked his head. "Non." His long hair covered half his face from her. "Not yet. I've been too focused in my training and career."

Shocked, Florica's steady gaze rested on his downbent head. "Have all the women in Paris lost the use of their eyes then?" She couldn't believe it. "So then you do not need me to cast a charm for you?" Sadly shaking her head, Florica made a great show of sighing her disappointment. "Pity. I haven't done one in a very long time. I'm in much need of practice." Smiling at the chavo she said, "What a tragedy."

"If you're so out of practice you could make an amulet for me to ward off _trouble_ since all my brothers consider me a magnet for it."

"Mmmmm." Tapping a finger to her chin, Florica looked at him thoughtfully. "I will do so if you truly wish it."

"Apparently I need all the help I can get in that area according to Athos." D'Artagnan's sarcastic tone wasn't lost on her.

Reaching for Charle's right hand she turned it palm up. "Since you have attained your goal of becoming a churo-mengro let us see what else the future holds for you." With a tilt of her head she waited for the youngster to speak.

Intrigued despite himself, d'Artagnan was eager to hear what she would divine for him. The last time he had his fortune told was when Nicu and Florica were last in Gascony. That had been many, many years ago. "Dukker drey my vast."

"Boona! You remember the words well, chavo."

Delicately tracing her finger over the lines of his hand d'Artagnan watched her expressions. Changing first from concern to elation and then a troubled look again he tried to tug his hand free but found it held in a fierce grip.

"You cannot have it back yet," she snapped. "Long ago yours was a much smaller hand but," looking at him Florica's eyes appeared filled with secrets only she knew, "you haven't changed all that much, chavo."

"I could have told you that myself." Rolling his eyes, d'Artagnan grinned.

"Still the _fire hand_. Full of energy, short of temper, full of ambition." Stabbing him with a knowing look, Florica smirked. "Creative when you put your mind to it as well. But you need to learn self control."

"Mon Dieu! Athos preaches that mantra to me constantly." Thinking upon his mentor's words of _head over heart_ , d'Artagnan really missed his presence. He observed Florica's finger trail from the edge of his palm, under his little finger, to flow across the palm toward his thumb.

"Mmmmm, your heart line shows you sometimes keep things close to your chest." Studying Charle's palm closely Florica went on. "Sometimes too much so. Even from your comrades. Your emotions run deeply. Perhaps too deep. So make sure they don't run away with you." Lifting his palm up a little bit closer to her face Florica continued to study it. "And be careful of where you place your trust because you may leave yourself open for betrayals." She flicked her eyes up to his to see if Charles was paying attention. "As to matters of the heart that will happen but much later."

"I'm a Gascon," d'Artagnan snorted indelicately, "we're always emotional. Nothing new there." Rubbing his chin, he glanced at her in question. " _Betrayals_ now that does worry me. Not so much the lack of romance. Can't see where matters of the heart had helped Aramis any," he shrugged. "I'm probably better off."

"Quiet, Charles! I am not done!" Tracing his head line next her finger went from the edge of his palm under his index finger clear across the outside edge. "Your intelligence has never been in question. You have a thirst for knowledge that is great and excel at most things you learn."

"Wouldn't know it to hear the inseparables talk about me at times," he mumbled, quickly shutting up at Florica's stern expression. Noting she was now concentrating on his life line, d'Artagnan held his breath. To him this was the most important one. His line extended from the edge of his palm above the thumb and traveled in an arc towards his wrist. "Bien, do you see a long life for me?" No sooner did he ask that when Florica slapped him on the top of his head. Rubbing the tender area d'Artagnan had a childish urge to stick his tongue out at her.

"Chaveja, do you not understand the concept of being quiet?"

A deep sigh escaped d'Artagnan. "Athos says that exact same thing to me too."

"Your Athos sounds like a man I could like," Florica grinned. She went back to reading him again. "Your present vitality and vigor is in no doubt. To your physical health and general well being I see changes to come. Many scenarios that could play out. Some in your favor...some not." Staring at a point over his shoulder, Florica's smile had faded. "You must be extremely careful for one of your friends may put all of your lives in great jeopardy."

Chuckling, d'Artagnan tilted his head to the side. "Our lives are always in the line of fire. Sometimes from our own foolishness."

"Yes but this _foolishness_ could cost you all your heads." Uneasy, Florica continued before releasing Charle's hand. His fate line ran from the bottom of the palm near the wrist, up through the center of his palm toward Charle's middle finger. "Sometimes there are things beyond our control." She looked at him tenderly. "Your eventual fate will be one of them." Looking at his sun line, which ran parallel to the fate line, just under the ring finger, Florica's smile came back. "But do not worry you have a wonderful and interesting career ahead of you."

"That is if I survive this _great jeopardy_ you spoke upon." Standing up he looked down at her noting she was upset with him.

"If you are this insolent with your friends it is a wonder you ever became a Musketeer," Florica clucked. "Since you didn't let me finish I shouldn't tell you this but your sun line also showed much fame would be your reward."

"As Porthos would say," he gave her a lopsided smile, "a little money wouldn't hurt either."

Standing back up Florica threw up her hands. "Bah! What is money?"

Placing his arm around her shoulders, d'Artagnan hugged her close. "Don't let Porthos hear you say that."

"We'll be meeting up with your friends soon enough I think." Seeing Lyuba waving her over to another wagon, Florica pushed Charles away. "Go water our horses. That was one thing I always remembered about you. The wonderful way you had with them."

"Still do." With a cocky smile and wave of his hand, d'Artagnan did as Florica asked.

++++

"I worry Athos is going to have a coronary if we do not discover d'Artagnan's whereabouts soon." It had become uncomfortably warm and they had stopped by a river to cool off. Having removed his doublet and weapon's belt, Aramis bent to take off his boots and roll up his leathers as far as they'd go.

"He damn near bit my 'ead off back there when I suggested we needed ta stop," Porthos grunted, removing his bandanna that was nearly soaked clear through from sweating.

Wading out into the shallow part of the river, Aramis wriggled his toes. "Ah... bliss." Then a mighty slap to his back had him splashing face first in the cool water. Soaking wet now, he came up sputtering and spitting out river water. Noting Porthos standing by the edge of the bank laughing his fool head off, Aramis quickly glanced over at Athos expecting his eldest brother to starting yelling at them. Instead his fearless leader not so much as blinked an eye seeming detached from reality. So he took the opportunity to yell at his larger friend. " _PORTHOS!_ "

"Yeah, that's my name." Still laughing at the bedraggled figure that was his friend, Porthos held out a hand to help Aramis out of the water.

Eyeing the dark hand distrustfully, Aramis muttered something under his breath. Reaching out to grip it, he decided two could play the same game. Tugging on Porthos' hand with all the strength he possessed, Aramis pulled his brother into the river with him. Observing the other man splashing around in the water, Aramis started laughing. "How do you like it, eh?"

" _I CAN'T SWIM!_ " Gulping in water, Porthos started to sink.

"You big oaf! You can't drown!" Nearly bent over double from laughing, Aramis pointed at the water. "You're in the shallow part!"

Staring at Aramis in surprise, Porthos then realized he could touch the bottom. Gaining his feet, dripping wet, he sheepishly glanced at the marksman. "I forgot."

"If you both are done frolicking I think our time could be put to better use in search of d'Artagnan." Shaking his head at their antics, Athos went to mount Roger.

++++

_(They're getting closer to finding their lost pup. Perhaps next chapter, eh? LOL!)_

++++

_Notes:_

_Chaveja_ – you, boy  
_Chavo_ \- depending on how it’s used, it means: boy, child or son  
_Gadjo_ – non-Romani male  
_Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata_ – one madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness.  
_Nais tuke_ – thank you  
_Boona_ \- good  
_Jalno_ \- I go  
_Cikneja_ \- you, little one  
_Churo-mengro_ \- soldier, swordsman  
_Dukker drey my vast_ \- tell my fortune by my hand

 _Tinsmiths, Tinners, Tinkers, Tinmen_ – are names referring to a Roma occupation in repairing things made of tinware or other light metals. They also dealt in selling tinware and tinplate.

 _Chair-bottoming_ \- another Roma occupation which involves weaving the part of a chair one sits on. It's woven seat is made by wrapping splits around the front and back seat rungs and then interweave as it's wrapped around from side to side.

 _Chiromancy a/k/a Palmistry_ \- usually begins by reading the person's dominant hand (the hand he or she writes with or uses the most, which is sometimes considered to represent the conscious mind, whereas the other hand is subconscious).  
Hand shapes are are believed to indicate character traits corresponding to the type indicated. So d'Artagnan has what is called a Fire hand which exhibits high energy, creativity, short temper, ambition, etc. - all qualities believed to be related to the classical element of Fire.  
Now normally people with Fire hands have shorter fingers and d'Artagnan has long fingers but because all those traits seemed to suit his Gascon temperment I wanted to use Fire hands as the others (Earth, Air and Water) didn't really suit his character.  
All the information I gained for Palmistry came from a book we have here at the library where I work and also the internet. So when Florica was tracing the lines in d'Artagnan's palm that’s basically how the heart line, head line and life line flow. Though the heart line also can be taken in another direction.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has finally arrived for everyone to be reunited… YAY!
> 
> See notes below:
> 
> ++++

_Same day later in the evening_

They had been traveling for many miles, after they had finished their last meal. However now their horses needed to rest. Plus Nicu and Florica admitted to themselves that they had both grown weary. Their old bones were not what they used to be. Leaning over Florica squeezed her husband’s knee affectionately. Raising his hand high in the air, Nicu signaled the rest of the caravan to stop.

Arranging their wagons in a circle, the men went about the business of getting their camp set up for the night. A roaring fire set the mood for the rest of the evening, after everyone had their dinner. Older couples snuggled close together around the warmth of the blaze, and with a full moon shining high above them it set a romantic tone for the younger couples as well.

Yet all of the Roma were sad knowing that soon the young Gascon would be leaving their midst. They had become quite attached to Charles these past few weeks. With Paris on the horizon, he would be departing to join his Musketeer family.

Sitting in her favorite chair, she had begged Nicu to dig out of their wagon, Florica sat close to the campfire reveling in its heat as the night had turned cool.

When Charles had come over to say goodnight to her he noticed a spread of cards on Florica’s lap. Intrigued he squatted down beside her, waiting for Florica to speak to him.

Picking up one of the cards Florica tapped Charles on the nose. “Your curious nature never tires, chavo." Her eyes appeared to be twinkling from the glow cast by the firelight. “Was it not enough that I read your palm?”

“Athos would tell me that _curiosity killed the cat_ ,” he grinned cheekily. “Aramis would slyly wink at me, while Porthos would say to go for it because there could be a pot of gold at the end of it for me.”

“Your friends take good care of you?” She began reshuffling her deck of cards.

“Most of the time and then there are times where I take care of them.” Gazing into the fire his thoughts dwelled on finally seeing his brothers again. Something he looked forward to most eagerly.

“Cikneja, sit.” Pointing to the hard ground, Florica waited for Charles to do so. Finished shuffling, she spread the cards on her lap in an arc. Nodding her head at the chavo, Florica waited for him to pick his first one. When he tapped it, she turned it over.

“ _The Chariot_ , mmmmm,” she hummed softly. Her eyes scanned the young one's pensive face . “You will triumph over adversity, overcoming many of life’s obstacles to achieve your goals. A period of struggles you’ll endure but it will result in worldly success,” she chuckled. “ _Self-control_ once again comes into play.” Seeing Charles roll his eyes at her, she reached out to touch his chin. “Chaveja, listen to my words well on this.”

‘I am listening,” he protested. “But _success_ and _self-control_ are things you told me about earlier.”

“And it pays to heed them again,” Florica scolded gently, sighing as she shook her head at him. This is what it meant to have a child. Constantly having to point them in the right direction even when they don’t want to hear it. “Come, pick another one.”

Tapping one in the middle of the spread d’Artagnan waited patiently or as patiently as it was possible for him to do so. Except when Florica turned his card over it was reversed. “Is that bad because tis upside down?” Brows drawn together he frowned, biting his lower lip.

“Not necessarily,” she murmured quietly. “You chose _Strength_. Normally that would mean courage, strength and power. Along with determination and generosity of spirit." Gazing fondly at Charles, who appeared worried, Florica ruffled his hair lightly. “All of which you have in abundance.”

“But what does it mean _now_?” he pressed on.

“The reverse card could mean you have to be careful of how you use your _power._ There may be times you’ll have feelings of inadequacy which could result in a defeatist attitude.” Hearing Charles snort at that last part, Florica tilted her head to the side looking at him in question.

“ _Defeat_ is not in my repertoire.” Shooting her a fiery look, d’Artagnan's chin jutted out.

“Hmmmpf,” she huffed. “I was going to add that you should trust in yourself, chavo. That is where your greatest _strength_ truly lies.”

When Florica motioned for him to pick out another card, d’Artagnan winced upon noting that it was _Death_.

“Why such a face you make?” Her eyes crinkled up in the corners while she laughed, used to such a reaction when someone picked that particular card. “The _Death_ card is not a bad omen. It tells the beginning of a new life. A major change which you have already undertaken in becoming a churo-mengro. Showing an end to a previous phase of your life that had served its purpose."

“From a farmer's son to a king’s Musketeer,” d’Artagnan mused. “Oui, quite a transformation.” Reaching out he tapped another card. Watching as Florica turned it over, he blinked his eyes twice for once again the card was reversed.

“ _The Fool_ ,” Florica announced. “It would have meant beginnings. Most probably of journeys.” Chuckling, she gently touched Charle’s cheek. “You have already been on one, eh?”

“You can say that again.” Knowing that the fates had smiled kindly down upon him, d’Artagnan shuddered because the outcome could have been so very different.

“This card tells me of your impulsiveness and choices made rashly.” Florica's dark eyes narrowed on Charles, causing the chavo to fidget. “ _Foolishness_ at times as well.” Her critical gaze caught the chagrined look that crossed the young Gascon’s features. “I see you remembered our prior conversation on that topic.” Charles remained silent on the matter which gave Florica a moment to divine more from the card. “Did you tell me that your friends like to gamble?”

“Oui,” d’Artagnan grinned. “Sometimes I think Porthos was born with gambling in his blood. He can never turn down a card game.” Laughing at some of the memories he had of his large friend, good and bad, he continued. “Truth to tell Aramis could be his twin. Both of them bet on almost everything under the sun.” Cocking his head to the side, d’Artagnan looked innocently at her. “Why did you ask?”

"There are other ways I could interpret it." Florica casually shrugged one shoulder. "Perhaps it's a warning to not waste your considerable talents losing at the gaming tables or it could be the opposite and you're in for a windfall."

"That's not as tough as it sounds since I don't have much money to fritter away in the first place." Standing up he leaned down to place a kiss upon her forehead. "Nais tuke, Florica, but I think I've had enough for tonight."

"I too will turn in." Wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders Florica caught at Charle's hand. "Would you please put my chair back in our wagon?"

"Of course." When d'Artagnan walked away, Florica went to her tent.

++++

"What do you think?" Aramis nudged Porthos in the ribs. They had taken cover behind several trees, afraid the moonlight shining overhead would give their positions away.

"It's a camp," Porthos grunted. "Not much ta see yet. Looks like they all turned in for the night like I'd like ta." He glowered at his brother.

"You two might as well walk right into that camp and introduce yourselves," Athos' acid tone was not lost on his brothers, "for all the noise you are both making."

Rolling his eyes Aramis waved Athos closer. "This could be the Romani that have d'Artagnan."

"And it could turn out to be malandrins," Athos countered. "I would very much like to find out which before we announce ourselves."

"We'll 'av ta wait til' mornin' light ta see what's what then." Disgruntled, because it meant a night without a fire to warm them otherwise they would be discovered, Porthos told himself it would be worth it if they discovered this to be the group of Romani their whelp was supposed to be with.

However he didn't bother to respond to his friend's words, when Athos' heightened senses picked up on the fact that they were no longer alone. Upon hearing the crunch of twigs being carefully stepped on, along with a whisper of sound coming from the brush, he instantly drew out his pistol and rapier as did Porthos and Aramis when Athos signaled them.

But when five men stepped into their line of sight, with weapons drawn, the inseparables realized they were outnumbered. Being so close to the camp it would be suicide to fight them all off, knowing that at any minute their numbers could grow.

"What say you, Tobar?" His pistols trained on the trio, Sacki chuckled.

"They made enough noise to wake the dead," Fonso agreed.

With a wry glance toward his friends, Athos refrained from saying he told them so.

"Anyone not wanting to be seen usually spells trouble," Yanko said. "With all of you skulking around in the woods what are we to think but that you mean us harm?"

"Man's got a point." After his words, Porthos wished he kept his trap shut when Athos glowered at him in that way he had.

Herding the three men closer together, Culvato poked them in the back with his daggers. Earning foul looks from the strangers, he grinned. With his companion's pistols trained on the intruders, they took them back to their campsite.

++++

The inseparables hearts felt much lighter once they stepped into the camp. For it was then they were able to get a clearer look at who had taken them captive. Judging by the attire the others wore, they realized these men were not malandrins.

At the same time, Sacki was able to clearly see the pauldrons on their shoulders. Exchanging glances with the other men, he knew they were all thinking the same thing. That this must be Charle's brothers come looking for him.

"Tis to be hoped d'Artagnan is still with them." Athos murmured low to Porthos and Aramis while they were left waiting. The man who took enjoyment from poking them in the back with daggers had gone inside one of the tents. Soon Athos assumed they would be speaking with whomever was in charge.

When the flap of the tent opened, the inseparables noted an older couple come out to start walking toward them.

Hands flying to her mouth, fiercely grabbing Nicu's arm, Florica drew her husband close to her side. "It's them. It has to be," she shook Nicu's arm to get his attention. "Charles described them all perfectly."

"Fonso," Nicu said gruffly. "Go get our chavo."

Quickly Fonso did as bid coming back, no more than a minute later, with a barely awake Gascon.

"Why did you wake me, Fonso?" Yawning, d'Artagnan rubbed the sleep from his eyes or at least he tried too. "I was just starting to have a lovely dream."

"I think you'll like this _dream_ much better." Whispering in his ear, Florica turned Charles around to face the three Musketeers. Gently pushing him forward, she stepped back to watch the longed for reunion.

With grins that threatened to split their faces wide, the inseparables couldn't believe that they finally found d'Artagnan. Their pup even appeared to be uninjured for once. Which in itself was a miracle as the boy was forever getting hurt. Resulting in Aramis clucking after the child like a mother hen tending her chick.

Realizing who was standing barely a foot away from him, d'Artagnan let out a loud whooping noise and ran into their opened arms. Feeling like he was launched into the air, d'Artagnan's body was lifted so high and then brought down so fast he became slightly dizzy.

"Porthos!" Aramis swatted his huge brother's back with his chapeau. "We just found the lad! Don't make d'Artagnan ill!"

"Sorry, whelp." Porthos hugged the Gascon close. "Missed ya a lot."

"As did I." Leaning into the darker-skinned man's chest, d'Artagnan rested his head. A scant moment later, he found himself being held in Aramis' arms.

"You do not know what hell we've been through searching for you." Holding on tight to d'Artagnan, Aramis feared letting him go. "There are no words to describe how desperately everyone missed your presence." Hugging him again, Aramis head rested in the crook of the youngster's neck. "Merde! I think I'm going to cry."

"Ya better not, Mis," Porthos warned. "Ya start with the waterworks and then I'll start."

Swiping tears from his eyes, Aramis smiled at d'Artagnan. "Guess he's right."

Thumbing an errant tear with his finger, d'Artagnan placed one hand on Aramis' shoulder and squeezed. "I've shed a few tears myself missing all of you." Feeling a warm hand on his back, he twisted around coming face to face with his mentor.

Blue eyes locked onto warm brown ones. Reaching out with both hands, Athos pulled the boy toward him to envelope their youngest in a cherished embrace. "I do not know what would have become of myself if you were lost to us." Cupping the youth's face in both hands Athos placed a kiss on d'Artagnan's forehead.

Enfolded in Atho's arms, d'Artagnan felt the comfort of the older man's love for him. He had missed all his brothers terribly. But none more so than Athos who had, for d'Artagnan at least, stepped easily into the role that his papa Alexandre had once filled. "How long have you been looking for me?"

"Going on two weeks." Aramis gave the lad a tired smile. "Give or take a day or two."

"We ended up losin' time backtrackin' some goin' afta false clues that didn't pan out." Porthos leaned against Aramis' shoulder. 

Refusing to cry, like Aramis, Athos' lips trembled. "Technically I took leave to find you as Treville had to finally call the search for you off."

Mulling that over, d'Artagnan looked at Porthos and Aramis who wore the oddest expressions. "Are you both on leave as well?"

"Sick leave." Exchanging a comical look with Aramis, Porthos ducked his head away from the whelp's quizzical gaze.

"Don't we look ill?" Striking a sad, woebegone, pose Aramis tried but failed to look sick.

"Are they serious, Athos?" Thinking they were pulling his leg, d'Artagnan's lips twitched.

"Tis true," Athos admitted. "But Treville didn't buy it for a second. Wanting to see them for himself."

"But he let you both accompany Athos anyway?" Knowing the captain could be lenient at times, d'Artagnan figured the officer let Aramis and Porthos bend the rules so they could go with his mentor.

"I used my charm on the captain." Sweeping his chapeau from his head, Aramis bowed before the Gascon.

"Why don't I believe that worked?" Chuckling, d'Artagnan turned back to Athos. "I don't care how you all came to be together to look for me. I'm just so happy to see all of you." With his forehead touching Athos', d'Artagnan was too preoccupied and so missed the moist eyes of the Roma that surrounded them.

With her head resting over Nicu's heart, Florica spoke softly. "Charles is greatly loved. I am glad."

"And here I thought we could adopt him this time around." A deep sigh escaped Nicu. Kissing Florica on the temple he held her close.

++++

_Notes:_

_Chavo_ – depending on how it’s used, means: boy, child or son  
_Cikneja_ – you, little one  
_Chaveja_ – you, boy  
_Churo-mengro_ – soldiers, swordsman  
_Caravan:_ refers to a group of people traveling together  
_Nais tuke_ \- thank you

The cards Florica reads are from the _Major Arcana_ (major Tarot cards). _Tarotology_ is the theoretical basis for the reading of Tarot cards, a subset of _Cartomancy_ , which is fortune-telling or divination using a deck of cards. _Cartomancy_ is one of the oldest of the more common forms of fortune-telling.


	8. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my story, Anon-reader. 
> 
> ++++

_Next morning_

Dousing the fire that had warmed their breakfast, Niku's eyes strayed toward the small group of men gathered round Charles. It was easy to see how the trio of churo-mengros earned their nickname. Pleased to see how that brotherhood now included the youngster, Nicu went to ready their wagon with a smile on his face.

++++

After giving his friends all the details, beginning with his capture by Chrestien Valois and his men and ending with d'Artagnan's travels with the Roma, he was exhausted. Living through those terror-filled moments under that malandrin upset him all over again, until a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck from Athos reminded d'Artagnan that there was nothing more to worry upon now that his brothers were with him.

"Think we'll throw a party for ya when we get back, kid." His dark eyes never leaving the Gascon, Porthos' hand on the whelp's arm tightened.

"I believe Treville would be the first one in attendance," Aramis offered. "He too greatly worried about you."

Ducking his head with embarrassment, d'Artagnan's chin was lifted up to meet Athos' concerned gaze. "I'm fine." Noting to his disgust disbelief register on the older man's face, along with his mentor's soft snort, d'Artagnan sighed. "Truly, _I... am... fine_."

"Famous last words, d'Art." Thumbs in his weapon's belt, Porthos' shoulders shook with his hearty laughter.

"I must say, d'Artagnan, those clothes suit you." Circling the lad Aramis cast a critical eye upon the garments, nodding his approval.

"My own clothes were basically in tatters by the time Nicu and Florica found me." Merde! Too late to take that part back, noting the fierce frowns the others didn't bother to hide. "Lucky for me that Loiza and Harman were near my size and offered me something to wear," d'Artagnan hastily added.

"Chavo, before we leave for the city," Florica's bright eyes rested on the inseparables as a mischievous gleam lit them from within, "what about one last dance?"

A wide answering smile graced d'Artagnan's sun-kissed features. "What say all of you?" He waited for his friend's response.

"Now that we have you," Athos drawled with a sparkle in his blue eyes, "I see no reason to return to Paris with such urgency."

"Then come, our new friends," Nicu gladly announced, clapping his hands to gather the others in their clan.

All the Roma came together in a circle, while the inseparables made themselves comfortable on the grassy turf.

Once again the fiddlers, Yanko and Merikano, were present. Andrz and Stevo had their guitars in hand as did Pitivo his panpipe and Guaril the flute.

Coming out into the center of the circle were Reyna and Syeira as they began their dance. The two women swayed sensuously to the rhythm of the music, letting it take them over.

Observing Aramis' eager eyes lingering on the dancers, d'Artagnan figured he better nip this in the bud before it ever began. Whispering into the marksman's ear he gave his warning. "Don't cause a problem. They're both married and I doubt the Roma would overlook your attention to their women."

Hearing the boy's words, Aramis took them to heart. "It figures when I meet not one but two beautiful creatures like them that I cannot do a thing about it." Feeling d'Artagnan's hand pat him sympathetically on the back Aramis heard the unmistakable sounds of Athos and Porthos snickering.

When d'Artagnan brushed past him to enter the circle, Aramis went to reach for the lad's arm but his fingertips just missed touching the Gascon. Curious to see what the youngster was about Aramis' mouth then fell open in shock.

Joining the ladies, d'Artagnan began rotating his hips to the music. Sandwiched between both Syeira and Reyna, his body followed their movements perfectly. Raising hands high he began clapping to the beat, while listening to the other Roma loudly cheer them on.

"Close your mouth, Mis," Porthos snorted. "Great way ta catch flies." He too was stunned to see this side of the whelp. From what he could tell so was Athos. But it sure in hell was entertaining.

After getting over his initial shock, Athos at first was delighted at the way d'Artagnan lost himself in the music. Then his heart stuttered a time or two, when worry began to fill it.

Aramis still looked like he'd been hit over the head with a hammer. Enjoying the site Porthos casually remarked, "Whelp sure looks like 'e belongs with 'em."

"Definitely remind me to not take the pup to Madame Angels when we get back." With a rueful shake of his head, Aramis' eyes remained fixed on d'Artagnan's performance.

"It's not like the kid's gonna dance on Madame's tabletops." Seeing Aramis' growing concern, Porthos figured there was more to it than that. "Or is it you're afraid of a little competition," he teased.

"Non." Running a hand through his thick curls Aramis' steady gaze never wavered from the boy. "I'm worried that someone else would get it into their heads to abscond with the lad."

Amusement died a quick death when Porthos was faced with something that could actually come to be. Looking over at Athos he saw the same worry reflected in his eldest brother's face.

Eyes narrowed to mere slits, Athos growled low. "Over my dead body." Of course he heard every word the marksman said and he completely agreed with him.

When the dance concluded the performers bowed before the loud applause they earned.

When d'Artagnan approached the trio, his footsteps slowed upon noting their reactions. Where he had expected to see surprise, instead he noted the men appeared troubled. "You did not enjoy it?"

"On the contrary, child," Athos forced a false smile. "You've displayed yet another of your hidden talents."

"Then why do you all look as if you've eaten something rotten?" His eyes shifted from Athos to Porthos and then lastly Aramis. Cocking his head to the side, he waited for a suitable reply.

Uncomfortable, but knowing the pup deserved an answer, Athos cleared his throat. "If any other disreputable individual were ever to see you dance in that manner..." he couldn't finish when noting the boy's eyebrows shoot up in that way.

Rolling his eyes, Aramis took over. "We fear others would get the idea to take you from us." Turning his head away he missed the flash of annoyance that crossed the Gascon's face.

Well that certainly wasn't what d'Artagnan expected to hear from them. "I do not think you need be afraid of that happening," his lips pursed. "There's no reason to perform a Romani dance at the Garrison." Then he began to laugh. "Well perhaps on Porthos' next birthday I could be persuaded to do it."

"Not on your life, bucko," Porthos growled. "I'd be beating off all the other Musketeers with a stick."

"Huh?" Puzzled, d'Artagnan turned to his mentor.

Silently fuming that Porthos let that particular chat out of the bag, Athos closed his eyes against the curious looks the child sent him. "D'Artagnan, let's leave that for another time to discuss." He was not up to opening that particular can of worms just now.

Shrugging his assent, d'Artagnan began to wonder if Porthos had been nipping at some brew he may have hidden in his saddle bags.

"If King Louis ever got wind of the fact that ya can dance like a petite houri," Porthos lowered his eyes to his boots, uncomfortable with this train of thought, "he may order ya ta demonstrate."

A brief wink in their direction, d'Artagnan's chuff of laughter told them that he didn't take anything they said seriously. "I won't speak upon this if none of you don't either." Slapping each of the older men on their backs he walked back over to the musicians.

When he returned to them d'Artagnan pointed to one of the Roma who was now standing in the center of the group. "Tobar has graciously consented to sing a song for us before our departure."

"A serenade?" Being a lover of music, Aramis was anxious to hear the Roma's selection.

"Not exactly but I believe you'll like it anyway, Aramis." Relaxing with them, d'Artagnan too waited for Tobar to begin.

"Yoi Dilaila  
Katar woi phirel, lulugya bai baryon  
Katar woi chi phirel, lulugya bai kern yon  
Delaila, me gelem te sovav-man  
Pe lake chunga  
Zurales woi xoxadyas man  
Zurales woi xoxadyas man  
Woi shinyas murrebal"

As Tobar's tenor faded away the other Romani disbanded to ready for their trip.

"Twas a beautiful piece," Aramis commented. "Even if I didn't understand a word of it."

"Some tunes don't need translatin' ta enjoy 'em." D'Artagnan, Porthos saw, had known the words. "Eh, kid, 'ow old were ya agin' when ya first met 'em?" Last night the whelp had mentioned knowing the older couple from his days back in Gascony.

"Since I was no more than five years of age." Thoughts returning to that time d'Artagnan added, "They're part of my childhood. A part that I cherish to this day."

"Whelp," Porthos hugged him, "ya fit right in with 'em like ya never been apart."

"I shall miss them," d'Artagnan admitted. "But I missed all of you way more." His words earned him a group hug from which he emerged slightly red-faced. Hearing quiet chuckles from some of the Roma, d'Artagnan rushed toward Nicu's wagon.

"Chavo's embarrassed," Nicu said. "But you three were all he talked about on our way to Paris."

"He's our youngest." Responding with so much feeling behind it, Athos winced at himself.

"Also prone to getting into trouble and hurt along with it," Aramis threw in. His eyes never strayed from d'Artagnan's figure, worried that at any moment their pup would disappear on them.

"The little gadjo was always our wild child." Joining the men Florica saw the amused smiles pass from one soldier to the other.

"Mmmmm," Aramis hummed, eager to hear more. "I believe we've found a source of blackmail material."

"Aramis!" Athos snapped sharply, earning a hurt pout from the other man.

"How else can we threaten the lad into obeying our orders?" Aramis huffed with a roll of his dark eyes.

"Mis, may 'av a valid point," Porthos agreed.

"I will not say a word to any of you." Florica's light laughter floated on the wind, finding these men a very interesting group of individuals. Though there were words she wanted to have with Porthos. The huge Musketeer had eaten enough at breakfast to have fed at least three other men. Her shorter frame stood in front of the massive giant. Poking her finger into Porthos' chest Florica then waggled it back and forth. "Kon khal but, khal peski bakht." Turning away she went to join the other women.

Scratching at his head, Porthos watched her leave. "Sure would 'ave been nice if she 'ad translated that. I don't know whether I was insulted or not."

"Florica scolded you, saying that _he who eats much eats away his own luck_." Yanoro walked away from the darker-skinned Musketeer laughing his head off.

"Told you to stop after that second helping this morning," Athos hissed. Observing a shame-faced Porthos, he hesitated to say anything further.

"Tis time for us to leave, mes freres," announced Aramis noting that the Romani wagons were beginning to pull out.

"Feels like I've been away from home for so long that I've forgottin' what Paris feels like." Knowing Aramis and Athos felt as he did, Porthos went to mount Roulette.

++++

_Paris - The Garrison_

When the caravan rode past the gates, Treville was there to greet them. To say he was in for a surprise was an understatement.

When Treville noted d'Artagnan in the lead wagon, tucked in-between a familiar looking couple, he was filled with a joy so profound there were no words to describe it. So the Gascon lived. That in itself was a huge relief to Treville. That boy was like a cat. But soon those nine lives of his would be used up if d'Artagnan kept getting into trouble.

When the wagon pulled up Nicu got off first, then d'Artagnan who in turn went around to the other side and helped Florica down. When he warily faced his commander, d'Artagnan much to his surprise found himself engulfed in a hearty embrace.

Standing back from the Gascon, Treville took in at a glance that the lad was all in one piece for once. "You can fill me in later, son. I'm sure it will make for an interesting report."

"Ummmm, sir," d'Artagnan looked over his shoulder, "I believe you know two of my rescuers." Taking Florica and Nicu by the hand, he pulled them both forward.

"Mon Dieu!" Treville cried out. "You are both a sight for these sore eyes!" He wrapped his arms around them. "Tis been too many long years since we were last all together."

"It is good to see you too, Jean-Armand." Nicu clapped his old friend on the shoulder.

Kissing his cheek in greeting, Florica studied the changes the years had wrought in Jean-Armand. There had been many.

While those three were catching up, the inseparables appeared bemused by it all. Signaling for d'Artagnan to come to them they plied him with questions.

"Remember I told you the captain and my papa grew up together." Getting nods in return d'Artagnan continued. "Treville also had dealings with Florica and Nicu."

"Ah, I do so love a family reunion." Aramis said to no one in particular. "Only thing of import now that we're back," he whispered conspiratorially, "is to not let His Majesty hear about d'Artagnan's dancing."

"Dancing?" Treville came upon them speaking low to each other and knew something was up. He hadn't been promoted to captain because he was dense.

"They're afraid King Louis will want me to demonstrate my skill in dancing as the Romani do." When the captain appeared to not understand, d'Artagnan did a small improvised display.

"Oui," Treville fingered his beard. "Tis best we keep this from Louis."

"Cikneja," Florica held out her arms, "give me a hug and kiss goodbye."

"Can't you stay with us longer? We've barely arrived." Upset, d'Artagnan's voice carried his sorrow at such an early parting.

"There are other places we need to be." Tapping the chavo on the cheek, Nicu smiled. "This was only meant to be a short detour on our normal journey."

"But you told me you were coming here anyway." Noting Florica's eyes flick toward her husband, d'Artagnan felt badly. "You only did it for me didn't you?"

"And we'd do it again, Charles." Reaching out she squeezed his hand.

"I'm simply glad that if d'Artagnan had to fall into anyone's hands that it was yours," Treville gruffly said. "Later d'Artagnan's going to fill me in on his latest adventure."

"More like a nightmare," d'Artagnan muttered. Once again feeling the back of his neck affectionately squeezed, knowing it was the hand of his mentor, d'Artagnan pushed the bad memories aside.

"Perhaps we'll come back after our other business has been completed." Shaking hands with Jean-Armand and giving a swift hug to Charles, Nicu went back to their wagon.

Kissing Charles again, Florica's hand cradled the chavo's cheek. "Zhan le Dev lesa tai sastimasa."

"I wish you the very same, Florica." Tears shimmered in d'Artagnan's soulful eyes. His old friends had brought many pleasant memories back to him. He hated to see them leave so soon. Before all of the Roma left d'Artagnan went to say his farewells to the others in the clan, as did his brothers. When it was time for the wagons to roll out d'Artagnan stood beside the inseparables, waving goodbye. Speaking softly he said, "Dza Dev lesa."

Knowing the lad was sad, Athos placed an arm around the Gascon's slim shoulders. "There's a bottle of wine waiting for us at my apartments."

"Not before I get my report." Crooking a finger at his men Treville pointed upward toward the balcony. "You four... my office now."

Noting the wince d'Artagnan didn't bother to conceal, Athos chuckled. "Treville's not about to take a bite out of you, child."

"More than likely the captin's gonna want ta join us later at Athos' place." Grinning, Porthos slapped the whelp's back.

"Come on, lad." Pushing the Gascon toward the steps, Aramis reached out to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair. "At least you didn't try to hoodwink Captain Treville by telling him you were sick like Porthos and I attempted."

With that reminder of what the two men had done just to join Athos in hunting for him, d'Artagnan felt like he could face anything as long as his best friends remained by his side.

The End

++++

_Notes:_

_Chavo_ \- depending on how it's used, means: boy, child or son  
_Gadjo_ \- non-Romani male  
_Caravan_ \- a group of people traveling together  
_Cikneja_ \- you, little one  
_Kon khal but, khal peski bakht_ \- he who eats much eats away his own luck  
_Zhan le Dev lesa tai sastimasa_ \- go with God and in good health  
_Dza Dev lesa_ \- God go with you

_Churo-mengros_ \- soldiers, swordsmen

_The song was called Dililah:_  
_Delilah, ecause of her sexy figure_  
_That resembles a Holy Icon_  
_Oh, Delilah_  
_From where she walks, flowers will surely bloom,_  
_From where she walks not, flowers will surely wither_

_Chat_ \- French for cat


End file.
